


How Am I Supposed To Get Back at You If Nothing I Do Matters?!

by VenomQuill



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fiddleford would make a surprisingly terrifying villain, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 02:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14368974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenomQuill/pseuds/VenomQuill
Summary: "Fiddleford?"Stanford walked into the dark, Egyptian-themed room, eyes searching the space."Are you here?"Stanford grimaced as a bright light shown by the shadowy wall.Melting from the shadows was his best friend, his light blue eyes alight in the teal glow. The only door shut behind him."Ah'm here, Stanford."





	How Am I Supposed To Get Back at You If Nothing I Do Matters?!

**Author's Note:**

> Find it on dA: http://fav.me/dc99ivg

Currently, Stanford stood flat against the wall, trying vainly to step back when there was no ability to do so. The room, stone and carved with ancient symbols, closed in around him. Before him, his twenty-eight-year-old best friend stood, blue eyes narrowed, and a golden gun with a blue light bulb muzzle in his hands. His small, circular glasses glinted in the light of the bulb and the red sheet of glass acting as a blast shield hid most of his face.

The flickering blue light caused by the bulb sent weird lights and shadows over the carved walls, smooth floors, and the clothes and faces of the two men. Stanford, his glasses flashing in the light and causing him to narrow his eyes, let out a small wheeze. “Wh-why?”

“Why?” echoed the blonde man, his eyes going wide before narrowing again. “ _Why?_ You’re askin’ me _WHY?!_ ” his voice raised to a bark. The gun shuttered in his grasp. “After all ya put me through?! Why?!” He let out a sudden laugh. “Why. Why, why, why? You’re askin’ me _why_? Think, Stanford, you’re a scientist!” He snarled and took a step forward, his dark gaze contrasting sharply in the weird light. “Ya pull me along ta build up this great machine a’ yours.” He took another step forward. “Ya drag me into the woods fer _me_ ta be attacked by monsters.” He stepped forward. Stanford squinted against the flaring light. “Ya don’t listen to a darn thing Ah say an’ nearly get me killed not once, but _twice!_ ” Stanford turned his head, letting out an involuntary shutter as the gun’s glowing bulb was inches from his face. “An’ yer askin’ me _why?_ ”

When there was a pause after Fiddleford’s words, Stanford squeaked, “Y-yes.” He cleared his throat and went on a more level tone, “Fiddleford, I’ve known you for over ten years. You don’t really think I’d willingly–”

“Ah dunno what ya think anymore!” Fiddleford snapped. “Ah don’t even know what you’ve been thinkin’ all along! You’re the smartest person Ah know, but ya don’t got a lick a’ sense in that head a’ yours! Not a bit a’ consideration for the people around you–the people that help ya! Not a thought, Stanford!”

“I do!” Stanford defended, wincing at his own words. “I-I tried helping you! I never wanted to hurt you. _Please!_ You’re my friend!”

“My friend?” Fiddleford echoed. “My _friend_ would never do what you’ve done, Stanford. Ya listened to a monster, you _believed_ a monster, over yer own partner! Ya never see what’s in front of ya until it’s too late! Well, now it’s much too late fer you an’ me _both._ Ah’ve done everything right! Ah’ve followed you, done my calculations, did the math, did what Ah was told, and stayed patient with ya! For _what?_ Fer me ta get the livin’ daylights knocked outta me by a shape-shiftin’ demon ya kept as a _pet?_ Fer me ta get scared outta my mind by a flyin’ freak a’ nature?! Ta be sucked into some weird realm with a demon bent on endin’ the world?” His voice lowered to a hiss. “It’s much too late fer the both of us Stanford.”

“No! I-it’s not!” Stanford tried. “Please, Fiddleford! Just lower the gun and calm down. We can talk through this.”

“Ah’m done talkin’! Ya never listen ta me, an’way!” Fiddleford snapped. His voice lowered to a sinister hiss. “Ya won’t believe a word Ah say, even now. _Well_. Maybe it’s time you forget this ridiculous notion a’ changin’ the world. Ah won’t let you destroy the world for your own desires, Stanford Pines. If that means wipin’ your memories, it means doin’ just that.”

“I didn’t want to say goodbye. I don’t want to! I believe you, now, Fiddleford. I’ll listen to you. _Please!_ I need your help! Put the gun down!” Stanford pleaded. But, as he looked into his best friend’s eyes, he could see nothing but burning hate. This was no longer the Fiddleford Hadron McGucket he knew. The Fiddleford he knew was patient and, though he got mad, never did raise a _weapon_ against him. He raised his voice, maybe, but never even thought of violence. This man, his hands holding a foul weapon of destruction, was no longer his friend.

“Ah’m not takin’ orders from you an’more.”

“Fiddleford, pl–”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been throwing around crazy ideas in hopes of getting some ideas for my writing. A few I think are interesting are "reformed villains", but also "villainous heroes". The first one I thought of was unsurprisingly Mabel and then Fiddleford. So, maybe I'll make this into a continued series of short stories or something.  
> I was also thinking that Fiddleford would make a terrifying villain. He's a nice guy. He's sweet, patient, non-violent, a gentleman, and has no thoughts of vengeance. But it's hinted that Fiddleford used his memory gun on people without their knowledge. I'd be more scared of him than Gideon or Pacifica or whatever. Especially since you'd never know it! You'd never _remember_ it.


End file.
